The Luck Index: Season 1, Episode 6 - "Ice This"

No one likes each other on Luck. Not friends. Not lovers. Not lifelong business associates. Not even themselves. There's a swarming rancor and aggression that pervades David Milch and Michael Mann's show. That might explain why, apparently, no one is watching Luck, or at least not making it appointment television. (Worth noting: If HBO's reported number—5.5 million total—viewers is true, then that's more than not bad for a show about horse racing.) It is a show about unhappy people obsessed with something—unlike say, the mafia or cops or warrior kings—that most people don't care about or care to learn about. But as the show moves past its halfway point and into the stretch run of this particular race, when shows like this stop over-explaining and get to toppling the dominoes they have so delicately arranged, things can get great. Payout is payout.

We're not there yet on Luck. But it's coming. You can feel it. And it'll probably come like the earthquake that struck the greater Arcadia, California area in this week's episode—an all-powerful shaking force. That earthquake resulted in some heady ramifications—horses neighing and bucking; old criminal overlords getting their panties in a twist; and one particularly distraught jockey agent getting a second chance at life. Left with just one client who hates him (the simmering and overweight Bug), an ex-client who loathes him in Ronnie, and a series of ex-lovers who won't even take his call, Joey wants out of this life. Gripping a pistol in the bathroom, he tries to muster the courage to pull the trigger. But as the earthquake begins, he accidentally fires into a bathtub, which then, in a bravura visual sequence, ricochets off a pipe, turning and slashing across said agent's face. The earthquake, clearly interpreted as some sort of act of cosmic interference, leads not only to Joey's life being spared but also—bonus!—to a cure for his stammer. In the emergency room, he tells his doctor, concerned for his safety, "I sense the event as a positive, doc. I can tell you that much for a fact."

Things are looking up for the Degenerates, too. "This ain't the goddamned Oscars," Marcus says as Renzo passes out T-shirts touting their steed, Mon Gateau. That is true, although with all of the scowling and grimacing and pained elocution, you could reasonably call Luck the Oscars of social repression. Despite their big win weeks ago, the Degenerates still handicap at the track, only this time they're fully invested. The Degenerates and Escalante look on as the Bug rides Mon Gateau like never before. He pumps, bumps another horse, and lashes him down—crossing the finish line in first place. It's a heated, thrilling moment, but there's a problem. "There may be a flag on the play," Jerry, the real gamer of the bunch, notes. Escalante, practically beaming, recognizes the Bug's newfound grit but he also knows his jockey broke the rules and is subject to an immediate inquiry. The Degenerates and Escalante wait for a verdict. "They had to give it a kinahora," Marcus says, offering our weekly Yiddish colloquialism. The Bug, on the phone with the commission upstairs, who are reviewing the tape, answers their questions in a daze. Satisfied with his response and a tape that's inconclusive, the commission rules there will be no change to the order of the race. Mon Gateau wins. The Bug is relieved and the Degenerates (along with a motley crew that includes deposed trainer and minority owner, Goose, and Marcus' physically disabled new sweetheart, played, I think, by the wonderful Deadwood and The Facts of Life actress Geri Jewell) pose for a snapshot in front of Mon Gateau. Back in the locker room, the Bug is confronted by the jock he bumped, but doesn't back down. "That was one, you don't get two," he's warned. (They're not done here, I hope. This show could use more jock-on-jock violence. ) The Degenerates toast the Bug back at the bar. (Rosie meets Walter there, too. We're havin' a Luck party! Let's do a pub crawl with Michael Gambon!) This is where Joey strides in. "Good evening one and all," he announces, stammer-free. "Nice ridin' kid," he calls over to the Bug. Then he spots Ronnie, and puts on a little show: "Peter Piper picked a pack of peppers," he says, grinning. (Though, the next day, after being confronted by Ronnie, his stammer mysteriously returns. Ronnie eggs him on and it's clear that their fraught relationship is far from settled, too.)

As for Ace, the Greek, and young Nathan Israel, the wheels are in motion on their masterplan. At the outset of the episode, the trio look at a cake delivered to Ace's room that reads "Wait To Go Greek" —a mistake of some kind. "Maybe there was an icing error," Gus says. "Oh, ice this," the ever-cheery Ace responds. (Ace also takes the opportunity to have his chauffeur order Claire a dozen roses.) Ace then visits his parole officer and they cryptically talk about his plan for the track, and then Miles Davis because that's what you talk about with your P.O.?. "I didn't figure you for a jazz man, Chester," the P.O. says. (Neither did we. More like late-period Tony Bennett.) "How do you feel going after that racetrack?" he flatly asks Ace. "Good. Both ways." We see Ace in profile answering these pointed questions—he's leaning back in his chair, not a care in the world.

After the earthquake, however, Ace is freaked about the first love of his life, Pint of Plain, so he and Gus visit him in the stable, continuing last week's nuzzle-fest. Ace quickly departs, taking a meeting at Santa Anita with the track's owner, making a fast offer for his property. The owner's onto Ace's scam—combining the racetrack with a casino. Ace's offer is 5% of the proceeds. "A friendly knock on the door," he calls it. The owner, like us, knows the track is merely a vessel for vendetta—Ace has got big plans for Santa Anita. While all this is happening, Nathan Israel is playing double agent, getting Mike to believe that Ace has already laid out a massive amount of cash for both the track and the Indian gaming commission, who he'll need in his pocket. Of course, none of that is true. But Israel, a muni derivatives machine in a Wall St. suit, is believable as a different sort of shark. And Mike takes the bait, attempting to flip Israel onto his team for a new fee. Ace saw this one coming. Later, Ace, Gus, and Nathan confer back at the hotel, where it becomes clear that Nathan has in fact struck a deal to become a double agent. "If I'm gonna feel sick all the time, I don't know if I wanna do this," Nathan laments. "You feel sick? That's because you're an honest man. So far," Ace replies. This is all far less than awkward than Claire and Ace's first date—Milch doesn't exactly do plain-spoken romance. Needless to say, these two cold fish make for a circuitous emotional encounter. "I do have such a big appetite, but I've never let it bother me," Claire says at one point. I have no idea what this means but apparently it's flirting.

If realistic romance is what you're after, Jo and Escalante's surreptitious affair is more akin to what the Milch brigade knows how to handle: Wordless, angry, forbidden. But this kind of love is toxic and potentially explosive, too. When Escalante offers a callous response to an immigrant who's lost her son, Jo starts to see the unforgiving side of her lover. Later, when Escalante and Jo talk in the stable about horses and their relationship, Jo goes out of her way to apologize. Turo is incapable of engaging with her emotionally. "Thanks for the a-space to move around," he says, coolly. Jo snaps—this Peruvian is too tough, too taxing. "Stay the fuck away from me," she says before walking away. As she storms off, she mutters something under her breath: she's pregnant with his child.

Walter—cragging, grunting, grumbling brute that he is—is pregnant, too: with a stud fee. It appears that the Delphi's owner's son-in-law is seeking a price for Gettin'up Morning—to the tune of $145,000. Walter doesn't have that, of course, so he ignores it while he can. So Walter preps Rosie for Gettin'up Morning's big moment. Another visceral moment arrives—to the instrumental strains of "Shipping up to Boston," the horses are off again. (It's fitful fire-up music, but woefully overcooked—this song belongs to Boston now, thanks to The Departed. We should leave it there.) Rosie aggressively pulls Gettin'up Morning strong out of the gate, racing hard and close, but she goes too far, lashing him twice. It's too soon--Walter winces and curses when he sees it. When she comes in, there's great fanfare--a track official calls the horse "the second coming of Man O' War"--but Walter is fuming. He rips the stick from her hand throws it in the garbage, showing up our Exercise Girl. Later that night, Rosie, chastened, apologizes to Walter at the stable. She's distraught--she genuinely wants the best for this horse and for her father figure, Walter. They come to an agreement, all daddy-daughter-like, just as a shadowy figure emerges from the stables—Delphi's owner's son is here and he's looking to claim what's his. No good for Walter and Rosie and no good for the three-way throwdown we're all waiting for among our protagonists.

The Week in Milch-ology
"Spoutin' a bunch of goddamned nonsense is what you're doing," -Walter, to himself in the track's office.

"Hello, my name is Joey Rathburn. Hello, my name is Joey Rathburn. Tommy Bahama. 100% cotton. Extra Large. Made in China. Machine wash. Cold water. Do not use chlorinated bleach. My name is Joey Rathburn."—Joey, to himself in the hospital, shaking his stammer.

"They gave him actual brass nuts."—Lonnie, to himself, admiring a horse statue.

"This horse maybe got broke-down legs, but he runs with a good horse's heart."—Escalante, to himself, referring to Mon Gateau.